


Those Words are Heavy Things

by kiashyel



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Torchwood
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 22:24:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiashyel/pseuds/kiashyel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Ianto almost said 'I love you' and one time he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Words are Heavy Things

**Author's Note:**

> _"If I told you I loved you, you might melt away on my tongue like spun sugar and disappear...those words are heavy things..."_  
>  \-- Spun Sugar by Beth Waters

It was raining. The afternoon sky had been a swath of brilliant colors with clouds so low that they looked within easy reach. But as night had fallen, so had the rain. Jack and Ianto took their time at dinner and enjoyed a leisurely meal. Even though Jack called it a date, it wasn’t unlike other Torchwood team dinners. There was plenty of talk of work and little mention of personal matters, except every so often Jack’s fingers would find a reason to brush against the back of Ianto’s hand. And as the meal progressed, Jack’s fingertips rested on Ianto’s skin for longer and longer periods of time.

They lingered over their coffees while Jack told one outrageous story after another but eventually Ianto, practical as ever, suggested they leave before the weather got any worse. Nodding in agreement, Jack rose from his chair and shrugged his coat onto his shoulders. Ianto glanced at the coat and followed the movement of the dark blue fabric, watching the hem rustle against Jack’s calves before trailing his eyes upward to other areas.

_“That’s a really great coat,”_ Ianto reflected. It was a thought that often crossed his mind.

Jack clapped a hand on Ianto’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

As they walked back to the Hub, another thought crossed Ianto’s mind. It was an uncertain thought, but he thought it all the same. The entire walk, Jack continued to talk and Ianto continued to think. Occasionally he made noncommittal noises, but mostly he was silent.

When they stopped at the door to the visitor’s center, Jack laid his hand on Ianto’s shoulder again.

“Something bugging you?” Jack asked. “You’ve been awfully quiet since we left the restaurant.”

Ianto looked at the ageless man before him, haloed by the glow of the utility light refracted in the rain, and he suddenly thought, _“I love you.”_

But he couldn’t form the words. They stuck in his too dry mouth. Ianto cleared his throat. Even if he had been sure he meant it he couldn’t say it now, not like this with them both standing in the rain. He refused to partake in such a cliché.

“It’s nothing, sir,” Ianto answered. “I was just thinking about some forms that need filing.”

A slow grin split Jack’s face. “I have a better idea. How about a game of hide-and-seek?”

The twitch of Ianto’s lips was almost imperceptible. “Hide-and-seek?”

“Yeah, we’ll think of it as a training exercise.”

“A training exercise? Training for what, exactly?” Ianto pressed.

Jack’s smile turned positively impish. He chuckled. “I’m not going to spoil the surprise, but definitely think of it more like a marathon than a sprint.” He tugged open the door and slipped inside.

Allowing himself a quick smirk, Ianto followed after.

 

* * *

 

Quiet. Early in the mornings and late in the evenings, the Hub was always so quiet. There was the occasional chirp of a computer program and the periodic howl of a Weevil in the cages down below, but mostly it was quiet. Ianto loved the quiet. The quiet was orderly. He felt at home in the quiet, alone with the gentle thrum of machinery, the putter of the coffeemaker, and the soft shuffling of the papers he organized.

There was another noise Ianto was accustomed to hearing – the sound of Jack’s bunker door opening – and he heard it now. Setting the papers he held into a neat pile on the desk beside him, Ianto swiftly moved to the kitchenette and poured two mugs of coffee. When Jack appeared a moment later, dressed head to toe in blue, Ianto presented him with the steaming beverage and Jack wordlessly accepted it.

Ianto watched him take a slow, cautious sip of the murky black liquid, and scrutinized the micro-expressions on Jack’s face. There was the widening of his nostrils as he inhaled the dark, fleeting aroma of sultry pomegranates and decadent chocolates, the sharpened focus of his eyes as the caffeine surged into his veins, the relaxing of the muscles around his mouth as he savored the taste of the drink still remnant on his tongue.

_I love you_.

Ianto caught himself before he verbalized his thought. He took a quick gulp of his own coffee to keep himself from speaking. He tasted the delicate sweetness of sugar before the drink burned the words off his tongue. It burned red hot all the way down his throat and scalded his insides. He felt the heat radiate in his chest. It pumped through the ventricles of his heart and spread through his entire body. It seeped through his lungs and dripped from one rib down to another until it settled heavy in the pit of his stomach.

But was it the drink? Or was it Jack? Ianto often felt these sensations when they were alone. Alone in the quiet, the quiet that Ianto loved so well. Moments like these, Ianto felt simultaneously thrilled and at peace.

He coughed hard and cleared his throat as he lowered his mug to the counter.

“Good morning, sir,” he wheezed.

“Morning, Ianto,” Jack replied. He took another sip. “Have I told you how much I love…”

Ianto’s brows shot upward in expectation. His heart, still jittery from almost drowning in a searing beverage, faltered for a beat.

“…this coffee? You really outdid yourself with this blend.”

His lungs rapidly expelled air and Ianto sighed forcefully. “No, I don’t believe you have,” he turned to wipe away errant granules of sugar from the counter.

Jack reached out and touched Ianto’s cheek with one warm hand. His fingers slid to the back of Ianto’s skull and he pulled him close until they were a breath away from one another. Jack pressed his lips to Ianto’s, opened them to take more from him. He explored Ianto’s mouth with his tongue as if questioning the tender, red screaming flesh for answers. They parted with a wet, quiet sound.

Ianto met Jack’s mischievous blue eyes with an imploring glance, wondering if he’d found the answer he was looking for.

“Just as I thought,” Jack said matter-of-factly. “This coffee does taste better on you.” He flashed a quick, wicked smirk and wandered out onto the main floor of the Hub, steaming coffee mug still in hand.

Ianto stared after him, feeling the warmth pulsing through his veins before dropping solidly in his stomach.

“Very good, sir,” he whispered to no one.

* * *

 

The sunlight was glaring. Dozens of people walked the Cardiff street and luxuriated in the brightness, turning their smiling faces toward the sky to absorb the rays. Glowering at the pedestrians from his window seat at the café, Ianto deemed the sunshine to be wholly inappropriate. The sky should be dark, the clouds grey. There should be rain. The universe should give some acknowledgement of the grief he was feeling. Toshiko and Owen were dead, their memorial services had only ended three hours earlier, and the universe had the audacity to bring sunshine to Cardiff. Ianto found it revolting and improper.

He stared into his cup of tea. At least it had the decency to be dark.

Movement caught his eye and he looked across the table to gaze at Jack, still wearing his heavy blue coat despite the warmth of the day. They were alone now. Martha’s train had carried her back to London almost immediately after the services. Gwen and Rhys had stayed with them for a time. Gwen had felt the need to keep telling wonderful stories of Tosh and Owen. Eventually, she’d run out of tales to tell and, afraid of the silence, she had prompted Rhys to leave.

Ianto took a drink of his tea. In his distraction, he had let it steep too long and now it was bitter on his tongue. Bitter. It was a good word, he thought. It perfectly described how he felt as well as the taste in his mouth. The bitterness had started brewing when they’d gotten to the café and it only grew more sour with every story Gwen told.

Every word she said deified their dearly departed coworkers. Anyone overhearing her would have thought Gwen was speaking of Mother Toshiko and Saint Owen. Compared to Ianto, Gwen had only known them for the briefest of moments. What did she know of Tosh and Owen? Gwen didn’t know that Tosh liked the milk warm before it went in her tea, that she liked a dollop of honey in the bottom of the mug so that the last few sips were deliciously sweet and creamy.

Gwen didn’t know that Ianto secretly snuck light roast coffee into Owen’s mug instead of the espresso the doctor always requested. Owen had always demanded the highest legal dosage of caffeine in his drinks, but never believed Ianto when he explained that espresso was merely a finer grind of coffee and that the quantity of caffeine was actually lower than other roasts. Lighter roast coffee meant more caffeine because the shorter roasting time didn’t strip the beans of the caffeine but Owen, the stubborn son of a bitch that he was, still demanded espresso thinking that his medical degree made him automatically know best. It had taken months for Ianto to properly mask the citrus top notes of the light roast brew with the intense smoky flavors of the darker coffee. He still considered that blend his crowning achievement.

Choking down the bitter tea, Ianto continued to gaze at Jack. Jack’s face was unreadable as always as he studied the garishly bright world outside, but it didn’t stop Ianto from wondering what Jack was thinking. How did an immortal man perceive death and the toll it exacted on the people around him?

Before Ianto could ponder for very long, Jack suddenly turned to look at him.

“Let’s get out of here,” Jack ordered as he rose from his seat. Obediently, Ianto stood. He lifted his black pinstriped jacket from the back of his chair and tugged it on over his matching waistcoat and red shirt.

It was easy to guess what Jack had in mind, but he didn’t want to go back his bunker at the Hub. Echoes of Tosh and Owen still reverberated against the cold tile walls, their memories bouncing off every metallic surface and out of every dank corner. Instead, they went to Ianto’s flat, where reminders of the dead weren’t so prevalent. They hid themselves away in dim shadows, behind closed blinds and out of the mocking sheen of the sunlight, and buried their grief in one another until darkness fell.

Ianto awoke sometime in the night and found that Jack was still asleep beside him. That gave Ianto some measure of comfort and he smiled faintly as he rolled onto his side. He propped himself on one elbow and he watched his lover sleeping. Light from the streetlamp outside filtered into the bedroom. It was just enough illumination for Ianto to make out Jack’s features.

For a man who was always at war – with daily life, with the universe, with himself – Jack could sleep so peacefully. In this restful state, Jack’s lips curled into a grin and he broke the stillness with a chuckle. Watching, studying, Ianto fell into his habit of pondering Jack’s dreams. Did Jack dream of him? Of Gwen and Owen and Toshiko? Of any of the countless lovers he’d had over his centuries of living? Did he dream of Torchwood or someplace out among the stars? Were his sleeping visions those of a man who lived in Cardiff or one who had adventures in places far too wondrous for Ianto to imagine?

Ianto loved Jack. He was certain of it now. Even though Jack wouldn’t hear him Ianto wanted to say the words, but he could not bring himself to utter them aloud, even to himself. They were transformative words. Things would change once those words were said and Ianto wasn’t ready for that. So much had changed lately. Something had to remain the same, at least for awhile.

He continued at his post awhile longer, alternatively watching Jack and wrestling with weightier internal matters, but finally Ianto’s eyes grew heavy with sleep. He sank back into his pillow and poured himself into dreams of his own, fluid dreams of a place where he and Jack were neither mortal or eternal but something entirely their own.

 

* * *

 

More than anything else that had happened during the day, the laughter was what Ianto would remember the most. He had heard Jack laugh before, but never with such joy and abandon. There was plenty of laughter from the other wedding guests as the reception got into full swing, but Jack’s was unmistakable. Loud and boisterous, it gave away his location every time.

Nursing a glass of champagne, Ianto sat alone. Under the table his feet tapped in time to the beat of the Mika song the DJ had selected. _I’m talking about blue eyes, blue eyes. What’s the matter, matter? Blue eyes, blue eyes._  From his seat, he watched Jack on the dance floor, holding audience with the bride and groom. The three of them were speaking animatedly to the exclusion of everyone else in the room. They were a unique trio, bound by something no one else at the wedding could fathom. They had all traveled with the mysterious Doctor and had adventures together across time and space.

It reminded Ianto once again that there would always be parts of Jack’s life to which he would never be privy. He momentarily bristled at the thought, but rolled his shoulders and corrected his attitude. Weddings weren’t the place to be sullen, especially at a friend’s wedding.

Draining the last sip of his champagne, Ianto stood and navigated his way across the dance floor. He stood a few paces behind Jack and patiently waited, hands in his pockets, for the right moment to join the conversation.

He let his eyes roam over Martha. The v-shaped Basque waist of her gown narrowed her hips and the fitted bodice elongated her torso, giving an illusion of stature to her petite frame. Her hands clutched at her skirt and alleviated some of the weight of the heavy satin. Her hair was swept into an elegant style and the diamond studs at her earlobes reflected the light thrown from the glitterball overhead.

Twirling his wedding ring and sporting the beginnings of a beard, Mickey stood to her left in a well cut obsidian suit that hugged his shoulders and tapered well to contour to the shape of his body. The jacket, in combination with the crisp white shirt and slightly loosened black tie, created a great line that extended to the flat front trousers. On his lapel, Mickey wore a red orchid boutonniere, which surprised Ianto. He had always thought roses were the traditional boutonniere flower.

Another peal of laughter broke Ianto from his studious mindset. Martha saw him then, standing apart from their little gathering, and her smile was giddy and genuine when she shot out a hand and grabbed him by the wrist. With one quick tug, she knocked him off balance and pulled him toward her.

Martha slid one bare arm around his waist and kept him close as she demanded in a bubbly voice, “And where have you been, mister? You haven’t danced with the bride yet, never mind offered your congratulations.”

Her exhilaration was contagious and Ianto found the charm of it irresistible. He offered a warm, affectionate smile before brushing a kiss against her cheek.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Smith. I wish you both a lifetime of happiness.”

Jack reached out and took Martha’s free hand. He fiddled with her wedding ring when he said, “If anyone deserves a lifetime of happiness, it’s definitely you.” When a tear threatened to fall, Jack wiped it from her lashes with the pad of his thumb and then laid his palm on her cheek in a gesture that Ianto knew well.

“Might I have that dance now?” Ianto asked the bride.

Martha looked up at him with a slow, radiant smile. “Absolutely.” She looked between her husband and Jack, “You two will behave yourselves, yeah?”

They merely chuckled.

“Hey, can I dance with the groom? How ‘bout it, Mickey Mouse?” Jack suggested.

“Not on your life,” Mickey refused.

“Then maybe I’ll find Tish and ask her to dance with me. I have a certain fondness for your sister,” Jack waggled his eyebrows at Martha before dashing off into the crowd.

“Jack Harkness, don’t you dare!” Martha shouted after him.

“Don’t worry, love,” Mickey dropped a kiss on her temple. “I’ll keep him out of trouble.”

When Mickey followed after the captain, Martha rested one hand on Ianto’s shoulder and held the other out for him to accept. “Shall we?”

The corner of Ianto’s mouth twitched. He took her hand and then wrapped his arm around her waist. Beneath his palm he felt the rough texture of hundreds of tiny white beads and the stiff fabric of the dress’s bodice. They danced in slow circles to a pop song he had never heard and he made precise movements to avoid treading on her gown.

“It was a lovely ceremony,” Ianto complimented. “No alien chaos to interfere like there was a Gwen’s wedding.”

“Thank you,” she beamed. “We worked hard to make it alien free. Although we wouldn’t have minded if…” her tone became wistful. “Oh never mind,” she shook her head. “So…think you and Jack will ever have one of these?”

Startled, Ianto momentarily stopped their dance. He recovered after a brief pause and continued. Martha was awaiting his answer with an inquisitive smirk. That was one thing Ianto had grown to like about Martha – and something he suspected Jack rather liked about her as well – her courage, specifically the courage to ask things that most never would.

“Highly unlikely,” he responded in a clear voice.

“That’s a shame. I’ve watched the pair of you. You’re good for him, Ianto. He needs you.”

“Well that’s certainly true. Torchwood would fall if it weren’t for my superior organizational skills.”

“I didn’t mean Torchwood. I meant Jack.”

Martha’s dark eyes burned intently. Ianto broke free from her gaze and stared down at the floor, watching their feet dancing with the music. His black leather dress shoes and her open toed heels peeking out from under the hem of her gown. He watched them move like the swing of a metronome. Left. Right. Left. Right.

“We just dabble,” he said quietly. “That’s all it is. Nothing can come of it. You know the average life expectancy for people who work for Torchwood. This job will be the end of me one day, or maybe eventually age will just catch up to me, but what kind of life would that be for either of us since Jack’ll never die?”

The song ended and the DJ announced it was time for the bride and groom to cut the wedding cake.

“Never say never,” Martha said enigmatically. She looked over her shoulder and watched Mickey and her family congregating around the catering table. “And maybe it’s because it’s my wedding day and I think everyone deserves to be so happy but,” she turned back to Ianto, “you could have more than dabbling if you wanted it. And it would be worth having, no matter how short a time you had it.”

At that, she went to join her family and left Ianto alone on the dance floor.

After a few more hours of celebrating, the wedding guests congregated on the steps of the reception hall to bid the happy couple goodbye as they departed for their honeymoon. Ianto stood alongside Jack and listened to his vivacious laughter. Martha and Mickey ran through the corridor of their friends and family to a waiting town car. Handfuls of rice flew into the air, landed with a dull click-clack on the pavement.

"Martha, wait!” Jack shouted and tore off down the path, his greatcoat billowing behind him as he ran. He reached her just as Mickey was helping her into the car and he leaned in to whisper something into her ear. No one overheard the exchange, but everyone heard Martha’s gasp.

“JACK!” she cried. Even from a distance, Ianto could tell Martha was blushing furiously. Jack threw back his head and sounded off another raucous laugh before kissing her cheek and jogging back to Ianto.

“What did you say to her?” Ianto idly wondered as they waited for the crowd to thin.

“Oh not much. Just a little wedding night advice,” Jack grinned impishly.

The guests began to disperse but Jack and Ianto remained on the stairs for a few moments longer. The air around them began to redden as the sun sank lower in the sky. Ianto looked at Jack, a statue of blue in the warm light of dusk, and he thought of what Martha had said to him early.

Ianto opened his mouth to speak.

“Yes?” Jack gave him a sidelong glance, one eyebrow cocked.

The words stuck in his throat. Not because he didn’t mean them, but because of Martha. She deserved to have the happiest day of her life all to herself. Ianto was certain she had earned that. He couldn’t bring himself to intrude. He pressed his lips together.

Ianto shook his head. “Nothing.”

Jack slowly nodded. “Come on,” he swatted the back of his hand against Ianto’s shoulder. “We’ve got a three hour drive back to Cardiff.”

* * *

 

Sirens blared through the Hub, drowned out all thought. Red warning lights flashed a hurried rhythm like a semaphore of a racing heart. Ianto raced to the computer, pounded his fingertips on the keyboard. The bomb was set to blow in under a minute.

_Override,_ Ianto told himself _. Overrideoverrideoverride._

“Ianto, you’re going to get locked inside!” Jack yelled above the chaos.

_TORCHWOOD LOCKDOWN_

The cog door to the visitor’s center rolled closed.

_TORCHWOOD LOCKDOWN_

“Ianto!”

“We have to find a way to override the mechanism,” Ianto quickly explained.

_TORCHWOOD LOCKDOWN_

Jack grabbed his arms aggressively, pinned them behind his back. “For god’s sake, get out,” he growled as he hauled the Welshman away from the computer.

_TORCHWOOD LOCKDOWN_

Jack roughly forced him down the short flight of steps. Panic possessed Ianto’s normally calm voice and he heard himself scream, “THERE’LL BE NOTHING LEFT OF YOU!”

_TORCHWOOD LOCKDOWN_

“I can survive anything!” Jack shouted back. He shoved Ianto onto the lift platform and forcibly spun him around. Then, he violently took Ianto’s mouth. It was no lingering kiss goodbye. It was something for Jack to carry with him into the darkness after…after…

_TORCHWOOD LOCKDOWN_

Ianto gladly let him take it. He dug his fingers into the thick blue fabric of Jack’s coat, scrambling to have this last frantic shred of intimacy.

_TORCHWOOD LOCKDOWN_

 Jack thrust Ianto away and pressed his finger into the keypad of his Vortex Manipulator. The lift rose.

  _TORCHWOOD LOCKDOWN_

 Ianto fixed Jack with a hard stare as he began to ascend.

  _TORCHWOOD LOCKDOWN_

 Ianto hated Jack in that moment. Hated Jack for sending him away. Hated that Jack would wake up alone when…if… _when_ he came back, however he came back.

  _TORCHWOOD LOCKDOWN_

 The lift climbed higher. Ianto didn’t break his gaze. He continued to stare as Jack became farther and farther away.

  _TORCHWOOD LOCKDOWN_

 But he didn’t hate Jack at all. Ianto loved him.

  _Torchwood lockdown_

 Ianto started to cry out, almost shouted the declaration.

  _Torchwood lockdown_

 But the distance between them was too great. Jack would never hear him from so far away and over so much noise.

  _Torchwood lo_

The lift grinded to a halt. Ianto ran.

 The words could wait. There would be plenty of time later, when Jack came back to him.

 Ianto ran. Ianto ran until he felt the heat on his neck and the force of the explosion propelled him forward. The night was engulfed in flames.

 Torchwood was gone. Jack was gone and waiting in the darkness.           

* * *

 

“I take it all back, all right?! I take it all back, but not him!”

The cold tile floor rushed up to meet Ianto. Before he could make impact, he felt Jack’s strong arms underneath him. Alarms echoed all through Thames House and the unearthly shrieks of the 456 melded with the feedback of the high tech sound equipment. Beneath the noise and chaos, Ianto heard repetitive, beseeching “no’s.”

Red. Everything was red. The color blanketed him, weighted him down until his limbs turned to lead. It crept into his lungs on the back of the virus and deprived him of his breath, robbed his organs of their duties. Red. Like so many of the shirts and ties that accompanied his crisp tailored suits, the color of the UNIT cap Jack had asked Martha for so long ago.

“It’s all my fault.”

Ianto fought against the red. “No, it’s not.”

Jack quietly shushed him. “Don’t speak; save your breath.”

The warmth of Jack’s palm settled on Ianto cheek. It spread into the heat of his cut. The warmth of a lover’s touch, the dark fire of a wound, the urgency of alarm bells, all of it red.  Ianto swam against the current of the red sea and focused his gaze on the beacon of blue before him. Jack was a fixed point, or so he’d explained, and a fixed point was exactly what Ianto needed, something to keep him from sinking into crimson depths.

Blue. Ianto trained his sight on it. The coat, the shirt, the eyes and everything that lay behind them. So much blue.

“I love you,” he pushed the words off his heavy tongue.

Water stood in Jack’s eyes. Or maybe it was a reflection of Ianto’s own.

“Don’t.”

The red pushed against Ianto’s lids until they closed. There was jostling as Jack’s whispered supplications reached a terrified, inconsolable crescendo , “Ianto. Ianto, stay with me. Iantostaywithmeplease. Stay with me, please!” And then, in a voice so quiet it barely reached Ianto’s ears, Jack choked out one more desperate murmur. “ _Please!_ ”

Ianto blinked against the red. Again, he found his fixed point of blue.

“Hey. It was good, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Ianto swallowed the red stopping up his windpipe. “Don’t forget me.”

There was a faint smile from Jack. “Never could.”

“A thousand years’ time…” Ianto tried to speak the words quickly. He could feel them melting in his mouth. “…you won’t remember me.”

“Yes I will. I promise. I will.” Tears dripped from Jack’s eyes and ran down his face before splashing into the waves of his blue greatcoat.

With that solemn vow, Ianto’s eyes closed again, taking snatches of blue with them. He gasped once as the tide of red rushed through his body. It collided with the blue and swirled into byzantium maelstrom before darkening to the color of strong black coffee.


End file.
